sidneysheldon.astrangerinthemirror-第4部分

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the　edians。　He　saw　Ben　Blue　and　Joe　E。　Lewis　and　Frank　Fay。　Toby　knew　that　one　day　he　would　be　better　than　all　of　them。　His　money　running　out；　he　took　a　job　as　a　dishwasher。　He　telephoned　his　mother　every　Sunday　morning；　when　the　rates　were　cheaper。　She　told　Toby　about　the　furor　caused　by　his　running　away。　〃You　should　see　them；〃　his　mother　said。　〃The　policeman　es　over　here　in　his　squad　car　every　night。　The　way　he　carries　on；　you　would　think　we　were　all　gangsters。　He　keeps　asking　where　you　are。〃　
　〃What　do　you　tell　him？〃　Toby　asked　anxiously。　〃The　truth。　That　you　slunk　away　like　a　thief　in　the　night；　and　that　if　I　ever　got　my　hands　on　you　I　would　personally　wring　your　neck。〃　Toby　laughed　aloud。　
　During　the　summer；　Toby　managed　to　get　a　job　as　an　assistant　to　a　magician；　a　beady…eyed；　untalented　mountebank　who　performed　under　the　name　of　the　Great　Merlin。　They　played　a　series　of　second…rate　hotels　in　the　Catskills；　and　Toby's　primary　job　was　to　haul　the　heavy　paraphernalia　in　and　out　of　Merlin's　station　wagon；　and　to　guard　the　props；　which　consisted　of　six　white　rabbits；　three　canaries　and　two　hamsters。　Because　of　Merlin's　fears　that　the　props　would　〃get　eaten〃；　Toby　was　forced　to　live　with　them　in　rooms　the　size　of　broom　closets；　and　it　seemed　to　Toby　that　the　whole　summer　consisted　of　one　overpowering　stench。　He　was　in　a　state　of　physical　exhaustion　from　carrying　the　heavy　cabinets　with　trick　sides　and　bottoms　and　running　after　props　that　were　constantly　escaping。　He　was　lonely　and　disappointed。　He　sat　staring　at　the　dingy；　little　rooms；　wondering　what　he　was　doing　here　and　how　this　was　going　to　get　him　started　in　show　business。　He　practiced　his　imitations　in　front　of　the　mirror；　and　his　audience　consisted　of　Merlin's　smelly　little　animals。　
　One　Sunday　as　the　summer　was　drawing　to　a　dose；　Toby　made　his　weekly　telephone　call　home。　This　time　it　was　his　father　who　answered。　
　〃It's　Toby；　Pop。　How　are　you？〃　
　There　was　a　silence。　
　〃Hello！　Are　you　there？〃　
　〃I'm　here；　Toby。〃　Something　in　his　father's　voice　chilled　Toby。　
　〃Where's　Mom？〃　
　〃They　took　her　to　the　hospital　last　night。〃　Toby　clutched　the　receiver　so　hard　that　it　almost　broke　in　his　fist。　
　〃What　happened　to　her？〃　
　〃The　doctor　said　it　was　a　heart　attack。〃　
　Nol　Not　his　mother！　〃She's　going　to　be　all　right；〃　Toby　demanded。　〃Isn't　she？〃　He　was　screaming　into　the　mouthpiece。　〃Tell　me　she's　going　to　be　all　right；　goddam　you！〃　
　From　a　million　miles　away　he　could　hear　his　father　crying。　〃She　　she　died　a　few　hours　ago；　son。〃　
　The　words　washed　over　Toby　like　white…hot　lava；　burning　him；　scalding　him；　until　his　body　felt　as　though　it　were　on　fire。　His　father　was　lying。　She　couldn't　be　dead。　They　had　a　pact。　Toby　was　going　to　be　famous　and　his　mother　was　going　to　be　at　his　side。　There　was　a　beautiful　penthouse　waiting　for　her；　and　a　limousine　and　chauffeur　and　furs　and　diamonds。。。　He　was　sobbing　so　hard　he　could　not　breathe。　
　He　heard　the　distant　voice　saying；　〃Toby！　Toby！〃　
　〃I'm　on　my　way　home。　When　is　the　funeral？〃　
　〃Tomorrow；〃　his　father　said。　〃But　you　mustn't　e　here。　They'll　be　expecting　you；　Toby。　Eileen　is　going　to　have　her　baby　soon。　Her　father　wants　to　kill　you。　They'll　be　looking　for　you　at　the　funeral。〃　
　So　he　could　not　even　say　good…bye　to　the　only　person　in　the　world　he　loved。　Toby　lay　in　his　bed　all　that　day；　remembering。　The　images　of　his　mother　were　so　vivid　and　alive。　She　was　in　the　kitchen；　cooking；　telling　him　what　an　important　man　he　was　going　to　be；　and　at　the　theater；　sitting　in　the　front　row　and　calling　out；　〃Mein　Himmel！　What　a　talented　boy！〃　And　laughing　at　his　imitations　and　jokes。　And　packing　his　suitcase。　When　you're　a　famous　star；　you'll　send　for　me。　He　lay　there；　numbed　with　grief；　thinking；　I'll　never　forget　this　day。　Not　as　long　as　I　live。　August　the　fourteenth；　1939。　This　is　the　most　important　day　of　my　life。　
　He　was　right。　Not　because　of　the　death　of　his　mother　but　because　of　an　event　that　was　taking　place　in　Odessa；　Texas；　fifteen　hundred　miles　away。　
　*　*　*　
　The　hospital　was　an　anonymous　four…storey　building；　the　color　of　charity。　Inside　was　a　rabbit　warren　of　cubicles　designed　to　diagnose　sickness；　alleviate　it；　cure　it　or　sometimes　bury　it。　It　was　a　medical　supermarket；　and　there　was　something　there　for　everyone。　It　was　four　a。m。；　the　hour　of　quiet　death　or　fitful　sleep。　　
　A　time　for　the　hospital　staff　to　have　a　respite　before　girding　for　the　battles　of　another　day。　The　obstetrical　team　in　Operating　Room　4　was　in　trouble。　What　had　started　out　as　a　routine　delivery　had　suddenly　turned　into　an　emergency。　Up　until　the　actual　delivery　of　the　baby　of　Mrs。　Karl　Czinski；　everything　had　been　normal。　Mrs。　Czinski　was　a　healthy　woman　in　her　prime；　with　wide　peasant　hips　that　were　an　obstetrician's　dream。　Accelerated　contractions　had　begun；　and　things　were　moving　along　according　to　schedule。　〃Breech　delivery；〃　Dr。　Wilson；　the　obstetrician；　announced。　The　words　caused　no　alarm。　Although　only　three　percent　of　births　are　breech　deliveries　　the　lower　part　of　the　infant　emerging　first　　they　are　usually　handled　with　ease。　There　are　three　types　of　breech　deliveries：　spontaneous；　where　no　help　is　required；　assisted；　where　the　obstetrician　lends　nature　a　hand；　and　a　plete　〃breakup〃；　where　the　baby　is　wedged　in　the　mother's　womb。　
　Dr。　Wilson　noted　with　satisfaction　that　this　was　going　to　be　a　spontaneous　delivery；　the　simplest　kind。　He　watched　the　baby's　feet　emerge；　followed　by　two　small　legs。　There　was　another　contraction　from　the　mother；　and　the　baby's　thighs　appeared。　〃We're　almost　there；〃　Dr。　Wilson　said　encouragingly。　〃Bear　down　once　more。〃　Mrs。　Czinski　did。　Nothing　happened。　He　frowned。　〃Try　again。　Harder。〃　Nothing。　Dr。　Wilson　placed　his　hands　on　the　baby's　legs　and　tugged；　very　gently。　There　was　no　movement。　He　squeezed　his　hand　past　the　baby；　through　the　narrow　passage　into　the　uterus；　and　began　to　explore。　Beads　of　perspiration　suddenly　appeared　on　his　forehead。　The　maternity　nurse　moved　close　to　him　and　mopped　his　brow。　
　〃We've　got　a　problem；〃　Dr。　Wilson　said；　in　a　low　voice。　
　Mrs。　Czinski　heard。　〃What's　wrong？〃　she　asked。　
　〃Everything's　fine。〃　
　Dr。　Wilson　reached　in　farther；　gently　trying　to　push　the　infant　downward。　It　would　not　budge。　He　could　feel　the　umbilical　cord　pressed　between　the　baby's　body　and　the　maternal　pelvis；　cutting　off　the　baby's　air　supply。　
　〃Fetoscope！〃　The　maternity　nurse　reached　for　the　instrument　and　applied　it　to　the　mother's　belly；　listening　for　the　baby's　heartbeat。　
　〃It's　down　to　thirty；〃　she　reported。　〃And　there's　marked　arrhythmia。〃
　Dr。　Wilson's　fingers　were　inside　the　mother's　body；　like　remote　antennae　of　his　brain；　probing；　searching。　〃I'm　losing　the　fetal　heartbeat　〃　There　was　alarm　in　the　maternity　nurse's　voice。　
　〃It's　negative！〃　They　had　a　dying　baby　inside　the　womb。　There　was　still　a　slim　chance　that　the　baby　could　be　revived　if　they　could　get　it　out　in　time。　They　had　a　maximum　of　four　minutes　to　deliver　it；　dear　its　lungs　and　get　its　tiny　heart　beating　again。　After　four　minutes；　brain　damage　would　be　massive　and　irreversible。　〃Clock　it；〃　Dr。　Wilson　ordered。　Everyone　in　the　room　instinctively　glanced　up　as　the　electric　clock　on　the　wall　clicked　to　the　twelve　o'clock　position；　and　the　large　red　second　hand　began　making　its　first　sweep。　The　delivery　team　went　to　work。　An　emergency　respiratory　tank　was　wheeled　to　the　table　while　Dr。　Wilson　tried　to　dislodge　the　infant　from　the　pelvic　floor。　He　began　the　Bracht　maneuver；　trying　to　shift　the　infant　around；　twisting　its　shoulders　so　that　it　could　clear　the　vaginal　opening。　It　was　useless。　A　student　nurse；　participating　in　her　first　delivery；　felt　suddenly　ill。　She　hurried　out　of　the　room。　Outside　the　door　of　the　operating　room　stood　Karl　Czinski；　nervously　kneading　his　hat　in　his　large；　calloused　hands。　This　was　the　happiest　day　of　his　life。　He　was　a　carpenter；　a　simple　man　who　believed　in　early　marriage　and　large　families。　This　child　would　be　their　first；　and　it　was　all　he　could　do　to　contain　his　excitement。　He　loved　his　wife　very　much；　and　he　knew　that　without　her　he　would　be　lost。　
　He　was　thinking　about　his　wife　as　the　student　nurse　came　rushing　out　of　the　delivery　room；　and　he　called　to　her；　〃How　is　she？〃　
　The　distraught　young　nurse；　her　mind　preoccupied　with　the　baby；　cried；　〃She's　dead；　she's　dead！〃　and　hurried　away　to　be　sick。　
　Mr。　Czinski's　face　went　white。　He　clutched　his　chest　and　began　gasping　for　air。　By　the　time　they　got　him　to　the　emergency　ward；　he　was　beyond　help。　
　Inside　the　delivery　room；　Dr。　Wilson　was　working　francally；　racing　the　clock。　He　could　reach　inside　and　touch　the　umbilical　cord　and　feel　the　pressure　against　it；　but　there　was　no　way　to　release　it。　Every　impulse　in　him　screamed　for　him　to　pull　the　half…delivered　baby　out　by　force；　but　he　had　seen　what　happened　to　babies　that　had　been　delivered　that　way。　Mrs。　Czinski　was　moaning　now；　half　delirious。　〃Bear　down；　Mrs。　Czinski。　Harder！　e　on！〃　It　was　no　use。　
　Dr。　Wilson　glanced　up　at　the　clock。　Two　precious　minutes　were　gone；　without　any　blood　circulating　through　the　baby's　brain。　Dr。　Wilson　faced　another　problem：　what　was　he　going　to　do　if　the　baby　were　saved　after　the　four　minutes　had　elapsed？　Let　it　live　and　bee　a　vegetable？　Or　let　it　have　a　merciful；　quick　death？　He　put　the　thought　out　of　his　mind　and　began　to　move　faster。　Closing　his　eyes；　working　by　touch；　all　his　concentration　focused　on　what　was　happening　inside　the　woman's　body。　He　tried　the　MauriceauSmellieVeit　maneuver；　a　plicated　series　of　moves　designed　to　loosen　and　free　the　baby's　body。　And　suddenly　there　was　a　shift。　He　felt　it　begin　to　move。　〃Piper　forceps！〃　The　maternity　nurse　swiftly　handed　him　the　special　forceps　and　Dr。　Wilson　reached　in　and　placed　them　around　the　baby's　head。　A　moment　later　the　head　emerged。　The　baby　was　delivered。　This　was　always　the　instant　of　glory；　the　miracle　of　a　newly　created　life；　red…faced　and　bawling；　plaining　of　the　indignity　of　being　forced　out　of　that　quiet；　dark　womb　into　the　light　and　the　cold。　But　not　this　baby。　This　baby　was　blue…white　and　still。　It　was　a　female。　The　clock。　A　minute　and　a　half　left。　Every　move　was　swiftly　mechanical　now；　the　result　of　long　years　of　practice。　Gauzed　fingers　cleared　the　back　of　the